


heart & soul

by pandizzy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, F/M, Inspired by Eros and Psyche (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Retelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24429817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandizzy/pseuds/pandizzy
Summary: "O rash and bold lamp, the vile ministry of love, how darest thou be so bold as to burn the God of all fire when he invented thee, to the intent that all lovers might with more joy pass the nights in pleasure?"
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Lyanna Stark
Comments: 23
Kudos: 30
Collections: A Game of Myths





	heart & soul

The wind howled around her, invading her skirt, and raising the hair from her neck. Lyanna looked around and tried to see past the curtain of darkness surrounding her; she wrapped her arms around herself. Her body shivered, though she couldn’t say whether it was from the cold or fear.

Father had left not an hour before, after dragging her to the peak of the highest mountain in his kingdom. He shook as he placed his arms on her shoulder, eyes wide with fear, and shouted, so she could hear him over the wind, “You must stay here.”

“Why?” she replied, a hint of sadness underneath her careful tone, “Father, I want to go home…”

He caressed her cheek with the utmost tenderness, a stark contrast to his actions from hours earlier when he woke her up in the middle of the night and dragged her out of bed. Lyanna’s feet still ached from the walk and her wrists smarted from the grip her father had on her. Her entire body seemed to scream in pain, physical and mental.

As he pressed his lips against her forehead in a goodbye kiss, Father seemed to whisper, “I’m sorry, my love, but this is the will of the gods.”

When he turned around to walk back home, she grabbed his hand, skinny fingers against his muscled arm. Father didn’t turn to look at her, his eyes on the ground, and lips set in a tight thin line. “Please, don’t leave me here.” He had wrapped a blindfold around her eyes when they left their house, so she wouldn’t learn the path to the mountain. Or the path back home. The old fabric was still clutched in her father’s other hand, fingers tight against it.

“I have no choice,” he answered, “Your husband is waiting.”

“Husband?” Lyanna repeated. She was distracted with the idea of being married, relaxing her fingers, and he took advantage of that to leave, disappearing in the darkness.

She tried to follow him at first, with shaky legs, but something pulled her back and a voice whispered inside her head, as loud as her own thoughts, telling her to _wait, please, master will be here soon._ For some reason, Lyanna waited, feeling like she had no choice. It felt like the wind itself held her in her place, near the edge of the mountain. Shackled, like a prize to be offered. A sacrifice, even, to quell the anger of a mighty beast.

Lyanna was dressed for a funeral. Father insisted before they left. A black dress, swirling around her with the strength of the wind. She tried to take a deep breath, to relax her body and mind, but air invaded her ears and she couldn’t think. Her eyes fleeted from one side of the mountain to another, wondering if the sounds she heard were wolves, or simply the blood rushing inside her head.

Maybe, she thought, she’d survive the night, despite the cold. Maybe father would come back in the morning, to find her asleep on the rocks, and he’d take her back home. Too many maybes, but she couldn’t return alone, and she had no desire to fling herself off the rock to certain death.

She felt the wind howl stronger against her, too strong, and her arms lifted, followed by her legs and body. Lyanna felt as light as a feather, dragged by an enormous strength to the skies. She closed her eyes, unable to look at the distancing jagged rock bellow, and maintained it close throughout the flight.

Despite it all, the wind was gentle, almost lulling her. It was warm, soothing her aching skin, and Lyanna felt like she could fall asleep right there. Before she could, though, the wind settled her on a firm floor, cold, but and she opened her eyes again.

High walls towered over her, marbled, and covered in green vines. The moonlight was so clear and strong that she could see as well as she would with the sun. Lyanna looked around as she explored that first room, brushing her hand against the golden columns, observed the carved wooden ceiling, and stepped through jeweled floors. A harp played itself in the corner, silver in color. It was a richer house than her father’s castle, grander than anything she has ever seen.

“Hello?” she called; voice high. Lyanna continues walking across the room, feet dragging her to a door on the other side. Wooden, she saw, and when she pressed her fingers against it, the door opened with a long drawl, “Who is there? Why am I here?”

She wanted to scream for answers, to tears down the columns, and destroy everything in her path, but something stilled her beating heart. A voice, in her head, the same as before. _Your husband awaits you in the room, Lady Lyanna._ The door led to a long corridor, with an arch opening at the end. Lyanna closed her open mouth and walked slowly. She closed her hands into fists; she had no weapon, but she would die before she let anyone take her by force.

The room was completely shrouded in darkness, saved for a single candle on a table that illuminated plates of gold filled with roasted turkey, cheeses and candies so sweet to look upon that her mouth watered. Lyanna stepped forward, feeling the way around with her fingers and toes until she reached the table. She touched a round candy and placed it in her mouth, feeling the sour taste of lemon mixed with something else that made it cold and gentle on her tongue. She had never tasted anything like it.

“Make yourself comfortable, my lady,” a voice whispered. Not in her head, like before, but around her. Lyanna understood it quickly: someone was there with her, in the room. A man, with a smooth voice.

“Who are you?” she asked, and her fingers itched to take the candle, “Are you the one they call my husband?”

“Yes,” he answered, “But you must forgive, my lady.”

Lyanna frowned and she looked at the candle again. It didn’t offer much in terms of light, but it would be enough, to look upon the face that took her from her home in the middle of the night.

“Forgive you for what?” she asked.

“For we may be married, but you cannot look at me, Lyanna Stark,” he said at the same time that her fingers closed around the waxy base of the candle.

Lyanna froze and her heart raced inside her chest. She wondered if he could see her; most likely, not, when she couldn’t see him back. It was so dark. She looked at the table, full of food that smelled delicious and remembered the first room she had seen, full of wonders.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.”

She felt her brow arch. Lyanna took a piece of the cheese and ate it, unable to stop herself. Her stomach grumbled and her mouth watered too much for her to ignore. When she finished chewing and swallowed it down, she turned back to the room, straining her eyes in a feeble attempt to see better.

“Do I know who you are?”

She could almost see him shrugging, “Maybe. You’ve heard of me, probably.”

“How arrogant of you,” she murmured, and a soft chuckle traveled to her ears, “Why can’t I look at you?”

“It is best if you don’t,” he answered.

“Are you scarred?” she asked, “I promise I am not vain. I do not care about those things.”

She heard something. Feet, she decided, scraping against the floor as someone walked to her, and the wind blew in her direction, cold, but somehow merciful, at the same time. The fire on the candle’s wick snuffed out, leaving a small trail of smoke behind, and Lyanna almost cursed in sight of her unluck.

She placed the candle back on the table, her fingers brushing against the crispy skin of the turkey. Lyanna turned her head, trying to find the direction in which the footsteps came, and words erupted from her throat.

“Where do you know me from?” Her voice was low, almost as low as his. Lyanna felt a gush of air against the back of her neck, but, for some reason, she didn’t turn to face her husband. Her heart raced and sweat pooled on the palm of her hands, although she wasn’t nervous. Anticipating was a better word. Looking forward to. _Waiting._

“I heard tales of your beauty,” he said, “And I had to see it for myself.”

If she were any different, Lyanna might say that she hoped she didn’t disappoint him. But she wasn’t different. She was still the same Lyanna from before.

“Are you one of my suitors?” she asked. Men from all corners of the world had come to her father’s lands, trying to gain her hand in marriage. There was none who caught her eye, though, after a while, the old men left, and no new options came. Father wondered, more than once, if she’d ever get married. He had gone to seek wisdom at the temple of Oberyn, but he never told her what the god of prophecy answered.

“Not those you know,” he murmured. Lyanna felt a knuckle caress her shoulder and all the hairs in her body rose in response, “Before I could speak with your earthly father, I saw you at your balcony.”

She waited for him to continue speaking, but he stopped. His finger didn’t move from its place, but the simple press of it against her skin was enough to make her body shiver and her stomach tighten. Lyanna turned her head slightly, but she couldn’t see anything, not even his gentle hand.

“My mother used to say that Cersei herself was in awe of my beauty,” Lyanna said, tired of waiting, “My brother Brandon once said that my beauty would be my destruction. Cersei is not a goddess one wishes to anger.”

Her husband stayed quiet and his finger left her shoulder, almost repelled by her skin. Lyanna wanted to ask if she upset him, she turned in his direction to say as much, but, before she could, he started to speak once more. “I was so distracted with your beauty, that my heart was pierced with one of Jaime’s arrows. I had no choice, but to be your husband, or I would die of heartache.”

“Beautiful words,” she murmured and reached out with a hand, searching for him in the blinding darkness. Lyanna felt a calloused hand touch hers, their fingers intertwining, and something cracked in her chest, letting out warmth and tenderness.

“I asked the wind and the skies for help,” he continued saying, “And I told the sun to tell your father where to find me.”

“You did all this planning,” she whispered. He took her hand between his and pressed a soft skin against her knuckles, his lips gentler than anything she has ever felt before, “And yet.”

“And yet?” he repeated, mouth still on her.

His kisses trailed up her arm, to the curve of her shoulder, and Lyanna felt the heat radiating off his body. She could sense that he was taller than her, and stronger too. She placed her free hand on his upper arm, and caressed it down to his hand, before going back to his shoulder. His skin was warm, like someone who spent the entire day under the sun, but rough. Hard muscles pulled taut underneath her touch.

He kissed her neck, lips on the hollow of her throat, and sucked. Lyanna bit her lower lip, her entire body singing as he licked her skin, before biting her pulsing point like a claim.

“And yet you never asked me if I wanted to be your wife,” she whispered, just as his lips found their way to her face, “If I am willing.”

His mouth brushed against hers in the gentlest of promises. Lyanna parted her lips, trying to catch his in a kiss, but he stepped back, though the hot gush of his breath still hit her face.

“And are you?” he asked, and she could hear his intake of breath. His lips brushed against hers once more and Lyanna almost smiled, “Willing?”

She kissed him in response, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him close. His hands were warm against her back, fingers trailing up and down her spine like a harp. His lips fluttered on hers as his tongue entered her mouth gently.

Lyanna had grown feeling like a kiss was something of mouth and lips, only. Something undistinguished from any other form of affection. A hug, but for your face.

With him, though? A kiss was a mash of lips, mouth, and teeth. Hands squeezing her backside and grabbing her flesh like something out of a story. He never removed his touch from her, caressing her thighs and dipping his hands between her legs. Lyanna sighed, pleasure bubbling on her lower stomach, and lowered her own hand from its resting place on his shoulder.

Her husband groaned when she took his manhood in hand, but he didn’t move, lips parting just a breath from hers. Lyanna felt like arching her brown in defiance, but he swallowed down that desire quickly, pressing his lips to her shoulder. He bent his back just enough to take a nipple in his mouth, sucking through the fabric.

“I thought I married a man,” she whispered, giggling like a young girl, “Not a babe.”

“You married neither,” he whispered back. He replaced his lips with his hands and kissed her mouth again.

Lyanna felt herself frown at his words, but she didn’t say anything as he kissed her. His kisses tasted like wine and something else that she couldn’t exactly recognize; something sweet and delicious, gentle on her tongue.

She helped him take off his tunic and heard him unlace his breeches, dropping the fabric on the ground like nothing. They separated their mouths only for a moment, to pull his shirt off his chest, and soon, they are kissing once more, unable to get enough from each other.

Lyanna buried her hand on his hair, long and soft, and pulled on it softly. Her husband groaned huskily at it, the sound starting low on his throat. She tried not to grin, but the smile took over her lips before she could suppress it.

“Truly?” she whispered, “This?” She pulled his hair again for good measure, and he sighed.

“We all have our weaknesses,” he replied.

His hands caressed her thighs again, pulling them upward and she understood his meaning without him saying anything. Lyanna held his shoulders tightly as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her husband holding her tightly against him. She could feel a hardness poking her, surely his manhood, and anticipation bloomed in her chest.

“Is there a bed?” she asked, parting their lips slightly.

“There is everything you might need in here,” her husband answered, and she could feel him walking.

She thought he must have excellent vision in the dark, or maybe knew this room very well, for he walked without difficulties. She was lain gently on a bed, the softest blanket and mattress underneath her, like something taken out of a dream. Lyanna felt her husband’s naked body cover her, settling between her legs.

He entered her slowly, aided by the warmth on her center, and she pressed her lips against his once more. It didn’t hurt like she expected to, although many in her life told her that riding her mare too often could cause her maidenhead to break. In fact, it was pleasurable. Something on his body hit her most sensitive part _just right_ and he swallowed her breathless sighs through their kiss.

“Lyanna,” he whispered, letting out a throaty moan, “Lyanna…”

“I’m here,” she said, wrapping her arms more tightly around his shoulder, “I’m here, husband.”

“Bold Lyanna,” he said. Lyanna kissed him as something grew inside her stomach, tightening her muscles, “Oh, how I’ve wanted you… _Fuck…_ ”

It was like the sun lit up inside her and she moaned loudly, unable to keep the scream inside. Her legs went numb and she felt ready to shake off her skin, stars bursting inside her closed eyelids. She was unable to continue kissing him, lips slack, but he didn’t seem to mind, pressing their cheeks together.

“Husband…” she whispered.

As Lyanna came down, she unwrapped one arm to stroke a finger down his face, feeling the frown between his soft brows and his flushed cheeks. His movements grew in speed, becoming more erratic with the passing seconds. He stopped as suddenly as he started, groaning, and a new heat filled her insides.

“Lyanna…” he whispered, “You shall be my destruction.”

Lyanna didn’t feel his lips against her temple once more, or even him removing himself off her. She was too tired; her eyelids were heavy, and it had been a very long day. She closed her eyes, for just a second, and when she opened them again, the sunlight hit her face like a slap.

Someone moved her in the night, so her head laid over the pillows and a thick blanket covered her body. It must have been her husband.

Lyanna looked around, expecting to find him sitting near the window, or maybe by the bed. Someone, perhaps a servant, replaced the night feast with new food for her to break her fast. Pieces of cake in colors she had never seen before, fried fishes, and a single goblet of wine. The bedroom, however, was disappointingly empty, as if the previous night had never happened at all.

She’d get accustomed to that rather fast.

**Author's Note:**

> For those that don't know, the full myth of eros and psyche chronicles how psyche would find out her husband was god and what happened later. it's actually a beautiful story, if one wishes to read about it. i knew i wasn't going to include psyche's trials, because they'd be too long for me and my anxiety, but the decision to not include the candle scene was actually a difficult one. i will, most likely, write the trials and the candle scene later, maybe a chapter two? i just wanted to post this, because my anxiety is a bitch and i live to serve her.


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